


Transparent

by PepperF



Category: Stargate SG-1
Genre: F/M, Humor
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-06-18
Updated: 2011-06-18
Packaged: 2017-10-20 12:45:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,039
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/212918
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PepperF/pseuds/PepperF
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Daniel takes an opportunity to observe Jack at home.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transparent

**Author's Note:**

> This was part of a whole series I had (mostly in my head) that's never going to get written. It's basically too similar to the Valentines series (Sam and Jack getting involved whilst still on SG-1), and... it's just... well, its worst sin is that it bores the pants off me. That said, I like this one section (even though it's a bit of a cliché, and it doesn't have a proper ending), and so... I claim ficamnesty!

Being a... whatever he was had its benefits. Social interaction not being one of them, of course — nor interaction with objects, for that matter. Daniel swiped his hand through Jack's bookcase, and sighed heavily.

He'd followed Jack home, having nothing better to do with his time, and feeling rather like a stray dog. They stopped for take-out on the way, and Daniel looked mournfully at the Lemon Shrimp. He'd had time to ponder a few things — like how come he was hungry but couldn't eat, how come he could walk through doors and yet not fall through the floor, or how come he could catch a lift in Jack's car and yet make no impression on the seats. It was... well, it was weird, and he desperately wished he could talk to Sam about it. But she couldn't hear him. No one could.

The benefits. He was seeing the positive side to this, he reminded himself. The main one being his ability to observe his team-mates when they thought they were alone. It was partly a sort of anthropological interest, and partly sheer rampant nosiness. He wanted to know whether Jack was that irritating when he was alone.

It was an ongoing investigation, decided Daniel, watching as Jack put the take-out into the oven, setting it to a low temperature to keep it warm. Then he began to tidy in an exceptionally Jack-like manner — quick, efficient, but somewhat arbitrary. "You can't just chuck everything in a drawer," Daniel complained. "It's... it's wrong!"

Jack carried on, oblivious to Daniel's critique. He nudged magazines and papers under his sofa ("There was a — Jack, you just shoved a memo under the... This explains a lot, you know,"), flung beer bottle tops in the direction of the kitchen ("Hey! That went right through me!"), piled dishes in the dishwasher ("You do know you're supposed to rinse those off first, right?"), and picked up random items of clothing. Suddenly he came to a standstill, something pale blue — a sweater? — in his hands. He stood staring at the item, and it occurred to Daniel that it was a little too... feminine for Jack. A cardigan, definitely.

"Jack?" he asked, astonished. "Have you got a... a lady friend?" A small smile, heartbreakingly sincere, touched Jack's lips, and he lifted the cardigan to his face, breathing in the scent. Daniel shook his invisible head. "Oh, Jack. Are you ever going to learn to open up?" He grinned as a thought occurred to him. "On the other hand, now I know your secret, I can use it against you." A dozen different uses for this insider knowledge ran through his head. "I think a 'buahahahaa!' is in order at this point."

Jack carefully folded the pale blue cardigan and laid it over the arm of the sofa, fingers lingering on the soft material. "You're a complete sap, really," Daniel told him.

Jack seemed to agree, smiling wryly at his own behavior. "Get a grip," he muttered to himself.

He surveyed the room, and seemed satisfied with his efforts. Then he checked his watch. "Simpsons?" asked Daniel. "Or a date?" But Jack headed for his bedroom, taking the stairs two at a time. Daniel hesitated for a moment, before his curiosity overcame him, and he followed.

Jack was already in the en-suite, water running. "Jack O'Neill, master of the ten-second shower," said Daniel, dryly. He wandered around Jack's room. There was no evidence that a woman had been there recently, but he didn't look too hard, not really keen to find conclusive proof. The shower switched off, and Jack came out of the bathroom, towel around his waist and one finger pressed to a nick on his chin — apparently speed-shaving wasn't such a hot idea. Daniel, feeling somewhat guilty, turned his back as Jack began dressing. Why he felt guilty, he wasn't sure — they had, after all, shared locker rooms for the past three years. But Jack had no idea he was here, and it just seemed... rude.

Anyhow, Jack would kill him when he found out — and knowing Daniel's luck he would find out — so at least Daniel would have something with which to defend himself.

Eventually he peeped back over his shoulder, and was relieved to find Jack mostly dressed, in black slacks and a clean white T-shirt. Jack had his wardrobe open, and was staring blankly into it.

"Date," concluded Daniel. "Take my advice: wear the black turtleneck. Janet told me you look 'delicious' in it." He wrinkled his nose. It had been more information than he wanted, but she'd been very, very drunk at the time.

Jack's long fingers hovered briefly over the turtleneck in question, and Daniel raised his eyebrows, wondering if he was having an effect after all. Then Jack pounced, and Daniel clapped a hand over his eyes. "Oh god, Jack, no! That's just not right!" he exclaimed. He uncovered his eyes, and groaned. Jack had put on his selection, and was checking his appearance in the mirror. "You look like — like some kind of giant citrus fruit!" It was... well, it was huge, and it was orange. Not a warm reddish-orange, which might have been acceptable, particularly if Teal'c and not Jack had been wearing it, but a bright yellowy-orange. It was very nearly day-glo. "If I ever, ever was deluded enough to say something complimentary about your taste in clothes, Jack, I take it back. That is so unbelievably... hideous. I hope for your sake she's color-blind."

Jack ruffled a quick hand through his damp hair, making it stick up in spikes, and then — seemingly satisfied with his sartorial disaster — went about tidying his bedroom, thus adding to Daniel's suspicion that not only did Jack have a date, but that Jack thought there was a chance she'd be seeing the upstairs of his house this evening. He sincerely hoped that Jack was wrong, because he didn't particularly want to have to walk all the way back to the SGC tonight. No way in hell was he staying for _that_. Jack headed back downstairs, whistling, and Daniel followed, fascinated. This was anthropology at its purest.

Jack grabbed a beer from the fridge, snapping the top into the corner of the room. "You just tidied up a dozen of those," remarked Daniel, but Jack didn't seem to care. He dropped on to the sofa, kicked his legs up onto his coffee table, and rested the cold bottle on his chest. Then he just sat there.

Daniel eventually sat on the coffee table, and watched his friend stare into space. "Is this what you do, when we're not around?" he asked. "Because you seriously do need to get a dog or something." Jack's head lifted up, as though he'd heard something. Daniel, suddenly hopeful, tried once more to communicate. "Can you hear me? I'm right here!" Jack stared around. "I'm right here!" yelled Daniel, but Jack only shook his head, seeming to dismiss his suspicions, and slumped back down again.

"Oh, what's the use," scolded Daniel, trying to smack Jack's leg but just going right through. "It's not like you listen to me when you can see and hear me, why should this be different?"

There was a knock at the door. Both men sat up. Daniel looked from the door to Jack, seeing the anticipation on his face. "Ah," he said. "The mystery lady."

Jack set the beer bottle on the coffee table — right where Daniel was still sitting — and went to open the door. Daniel followed. Outside was Sam. "Oh, hi, Sam," said Daniel, conversationally. "It's just you. Jack and I thought you might be—"

"I got your note, Jack," said Sam, and smiled. Daniel trailed off, and gaped at them. They were staring — no, they were gazing at one another.

"'Jack'?" he parroted, stunned. "She never calls you 'Jack'!"

Jack stepped back to let her in. "C'mon in. I got Chinese."

Daniel followed Sam into the living room, whilst the colonel went to fetch the take-out. He watched, open mouthed, as she picked up the blue cardigan. "Oh, there it is," she muttered, throwing it, along with her jacket, on to a chair.

"That's — it's — you're—" Daniel stammered.

"Lemon Shrimp," announced Jack, setting down boxes, plates, and napkins. "Uh, Peanut Chicken, spring rolls, chow mein, rice, vegetable stuff." He handed her a pair of chopsticks. "Help yourself."

"You're — you're together?!" spluttered Daniel, finally. "Since when?"

"Thanks." Sam tucked into the noodles in typical SG-1 fashion: straight from the box. Jack helped himself to a spring roll. They ate in silence, glancing at one another almost shyly, careful not to let their hands touch when they swapped boxes. Daniel, however, was not so quiet.

"I don't believe this!" He was pacing, gesturing wildly. "How could you not tell me something this important? How?! Two of my best friends get together — finally, I might add! — and they don't think I'd want to know? For goodness' sake, do you two know how much emotional energy I've got invested in your relationship? How many bets have been placed? Not to mention Teal'c, and Janet, and General Hammond..." He stopped short as a dreadful thought occurred to him. "Jack, you're not retiring again, are you?"

"So, uh... how've you been?" Jack winced as he said it, and Sam shot him a dubious look. "I mean, we haven't had a chance to – to spend any time alone — I mean, alone to...gether, since..."

"No, no, you wouldn't do that," said Daniel, feverishly, picking up the pacing again. "You love this job, I know you do. Sam's not being transferred, either, right?"

"No," Sam concurred, breaking what — for them — had been an awkward pause. "We've both been... busy. And then in the infirmary, of course."

"Yeah," agreed the colonel, quickly. "Daniel missing, radiation sickness... Helluva week."

"Of course, that's why this is so — so clandestine," Daniel realized aloud. "You're not going to tell General Hammond — you're not doing this by the rules." He thought about that for a moment. "Good for you," he said, decisively. "But you still should've told me."

"I still don't feel so great," admitted Sam. "I keep going hot and cold. It's not too bad," she added hastily, at Jack's concerned look. "I wanted to stay on base, keep working, but Janet threatened me—"

"—With another night in the infirmary? Me, too." They grinned at one another.

"It's about time you two stopped using 'the regs' as an excuse," lectured Daniel, warming to his theme. "Air Force rules never stopped either of you doing what needed to be done. Of course, this is a more... a more selfish reason for breaking the rules, I guess — but you deserve some happiness, too, after all you've done for this planet. I'm glad you've realized it, at last."

Jack and Sam had gone back to eating in silence. Like kids, they kept sneaking glances at one another. "You look nice," offered Jack, eventually.

Sam blushed. "You look..." She seemed to take in the orange monstrosity for the first time. Her eyes widened. "Uh…"

"Hideous, Sam. He looks hideous."

"...nice, too."

Jack frowned, and looked down at himself, then up at Sam. "What?"

"Liar," said Daniel, to Sam.

"Nothing."

"Saaaaaaaam..."

Sam hid a smile, looking down and stirring her chopsticks through the rice. "You look nice," she said, firmly. "It's just... Well, you look nice despite that." She pointed the chopsticks at his sweater.

"I never realized you were such a sap, Sam," Daniel remarked.

Jack looked hurt — which meant he wasn't really that offended. "You don't like?"

"I did tell you," said Daniel, smugly.

Sam shook her head. "Sorry, but you have the worst taste."

Jack opened his mouth to protest — and then shrugged. "True," he admitted. "Thank god for uniforms."

"Thank god for Dress Blues," said Sam, fervently.

Jack raised his eyebrows. "I thought you hated 'em?" he asked. Sam smirked.

"On me, yes," she explained, and eyed Jack meaningfully.

His mouth dropped open. "Oh. Uh... I..." He stumbled for words. "Back atcha." They gazed at one another for a long moment, grinning like mad fools.

Daniel rolled his eyes. "Oh, for god's sake. And I wondered why it took you two so long."

\---

END.


End file.
